The View from Here: Difference between trials and blessings is point of view

When I moved from Chicago to Boston, everyone familiar with both areas told me Boston wouldn't be as cold as Chicago, but that I'd see more snow. Not having a car to dig out or slide around ice in, that seemed like a pretty nice tradeoff to me.Even if I did, though, I don't think I'd mind much; I love the snow. My favorite scene in \"The Nutcracker\" is the one when Clara arrives in the land of snow — especially in Boston Ballet's version, where the backdrop features row after row of beautifully painted, snow-covered pine trees, and sparkling flakes fall continuously from above.Probably my most-watched Christmas movie is \"White Christmas,\" whose entire plot centers on a lack of snow, and photos of snow-covered trees hang on multiple walls of my apartment all year long.I love how a covering of fresh snow makes everything quiet and still. I love how clean the world looks under a blanket of white, and the way snowflakes glitter like stars as they float past street lights.And I certainly loved the perfect moment New England's first real snowfall of the year afforded me last weekend, when I left a restaurant with friends to find the small New Hampshire town we were visiting covered in white; snow fell softly from the sky, a beautifully decorated Christmas tree stood on the corner, wreaths hung from every lamppost on the street and the bells in the quaint church across the way chimed as the clock struck midnight.No artist could have created a more idyllic scene.Of course, the other end of that perfect moment is the fact that the drive back to Boston was a slow, plodding one, thanks to the snowy roads and fat flakes that more often than not flew horizontally into the windshield. But we made it, and I don't think anybody begrudged that perfect moment in our very own winter wonderland simply because it made for a long drive, a late night and a subsequent early morning.All of which keeps turning my mind to a favorite painting that hangs in the Chicago Temple, depicting the early Saints' exodus from Nauvoo. Its stark palette of grays and whites create a somber, chilly scene of snow-covered ground and a frozen Mississippi River, upon which long lines of wagons are rolling as they head west. While few of those walking alongside the wagons are hanging their heads, the scene seems nothing but tragic at first glance.But then you think about what all was happening there, as persecutions and danger mounted and the need to leave Illinois became more pressing. You think about how slow and arduous the process of ferrying oxen, wagons and people across that river had to have been, and what a miracle it must have seemed for them to simply walk across in a matter of minutes.You think of the relative safety that waited on the other side of the Mississippi, and you realize that the bitter cold it took to harden that wide expanse of river must have seemed a small price to pay for deliverance. And then you realize that there is, in fact, very little tragedy in that cold, snow-covered scene.Every time I looked at that painting, I was reminded that whatever hard thing was going on in my life just then could probably be reframed in a more optimistic light. Were the struggles I was experiencing in a relationship equipping me for a different one later on? Was a mile-long to-do list in fact a merciful way to work through a personal pain? Did that pain expand my empathy?Time has taught me that the answer to all those questions is a resounding \"yes,\" and, thus, that the principle I'm getting at here is as true in my life as it was in the lives of the pioneers: Sometimes, the only difference between a trial and a blessing is your point of view.As a friend very wisely told me a few months ago when stress and worry were pressing harder than I wanted to take: \"The Lord's got you.\" That was true for the beleaguered, bitterly cold Saints crossing the Mississippi River on foot, it was true in the tender mercy of that picture-perfect moment in the snow and it was true during the late-night drive through a storm that had to follow.He's got us all, and he watches us closely. Whether we view his care as a trying moment (say, driving through a snowstorm) or a cheerful one (like, perhaps, learning during the drive that you're not the only person you know who can sing every word in not only \"(There's No Place Like) Home for the Holidays,\" but also \"The Christmas Waltz\"), his care is ever-present.I'm as sure of that as I am that the soft magic of snow in street lights gives way to the sparkling, crystalline beauty of snow-covered branches in sunlight the next morning — and, of course, the icy sidewalks and freezing temperatures that are necessarily a part of the equation.On balance, though, I still think we come out way ahead.